


remembrance in my love to you

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier gets kidnapped by Nilfgaard and loses something important.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 711





	remembrance in my love to you

**Author's Note:**

> wanted to do smth a lil different with the whole jaskier kidnapped plot... so here we are  
> follow me on twitter @ queermight or tumblr @ korrmin

The last thing Jaskier remembered was traveling by himself. After his fight (if it could even be _called_ that) with Geralt on the mountain, he’d turn and left. He hoped they’d meet again and, when they did, that they could move on and be friends again.

Because as much as Geralt denied it, Jaskier knew he saw him as a companion. Jaskier knew Geralt wasn’t actually angry at _him_ but life and he was just taking it out on the only person he could.

But it was still painful, hearing such cruel words from a man he cared so much for, maybe more than Geralt even knew. Though he supposed if Geralt ever realized Jaskier’s feelings went deeper than friendship he’d promptly ignore them in hopes they’d go away.

(They wouldn’t.)

Point being, when Jaskier opened his eyes and noticed, slowly, he was in a cell, he was confused to say the least. He should’ve been in the woods, sleeping in the cold and wishing he had Geralt, who despite his harsh exterior often slept with him when Jaskier’s teeth were chattering.

He tried moving before quickly realizing he was _chained to the wall._

“Wonderful,” he mumbled to the empty cell, tugging on his restraints, mostly just for something to do because he knew he wasn’t strong enough to break them. Sighing, he gave up and slumped against the wall.

It was a small cell, barely big enough for four or five people. Jaskier tried remembering if he’d been near any cities with kings who’d have reason to do this, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t.

Taking a deep breath, he did what he did best: sing. Or scream. It was kind of a mix of the two. Jaskier waited and waited, getting louder and louder, until finally he heard hurried footsteps and the sound of a lock being taken off the door.

He quieted down as the door opened and two guards stepped in followed by a woman with dark skin and perfectly blank expression.

“Jaskier,” she greeted.

He raised his eyebrows and tried to remember if he’d ever seen her face. “How rude of me,” he said, “but I seem to have forgotten your name.”

She stepped forward and smiled but there was nothing sweet about it. “You may call me Fringilla,” she said and Jaskier stiffened, his whole body going tight. She hmmed, looking pleased. “So you _have_ heard of me. Wonderful; that’ll make this so much easier.”

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Make _what_ easier?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“We don’t want to hurt you, little bard,” she said, but Jaskier questioned the validity of her statement, considering his current _situation_. “And we won’t.”

Jaskier almost relaxed, but he didn’t. He knew better.

“As long as you tell us what we want to know,” she continued.

Jaskier searched her face, back to that perfectly blank expression. “Like what?”

Fringilla took a step back, eyeing him skeptically. “Where is he?” she asked.

“Wh–where’s who?” he asked but he knew who she was talking about, and he knew she knew he knew, and his heart thumped loudly in his chest.

Fringilla frowned, just barely. “Don’t be dull, Jaskier,” she said evenly. “You owe nothing to that man. Protect yourself and tell us what we want to hear, and we’ll let you go with–” her eyebrows raised “–minimum injuries.”

He laughed, a little sharp, and slumped forward, as close as he could get to intimidating right about now. “So you’re admitting no matter what I say, I’ll still leave with injuries?”

“Would you prefer injuries or death?” she asked, icily, and he froze again. “Right,” she sighed and patted her dress. “I knew you’d be difficult. Perhaps you’ll change your tune soon enough.”

Without another word, she turned and left the cell. The guards, pointedly, did not. Jaskier smiled sheepishly.

“So–” he started, quickly cut off by one of the guards swinging the hilt of their sword at him. The hilt of the sword connected with the side of his head and left him seeing stars.

Thank the Gods it hadn’t been the blade was all he could think.

“I–” he started again, vision still a little blurry but then he felt something blunt–a fist, he realized idly–hit him in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. He doubled over, coughing.

Jaskier closed his eyes. Fuck, he was so _fucked_.

Jaskier opened his eyes and he was still in the cell and every inch of his body was on fire, aching and heavy. He was alone, at least, so he counted his blessings and took the moment to focus on regaining his energy, any of it because he felt like a lump of coal.

The door opened not long after and Fringilla walked back in, alone.

“I will give you two more days,” she said, like it was such a big favor he should be thankful for. “Speak or regret it.”

Turning around, she walked out of the cell and the guards took her place. Jaskier took a shaky breath and calmed his nerves, pushing them down, down, deep. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

Jaskier passed out quickly and _that_ he was thankful for.

He dreamed of Geralt on the mountain, turning around after his outburst and apologizing, telling Jaskier he was sorry and he knew he was yelling at the wrong person and that he wanted him to come with him. That he realized, finally, that the person he really wanted was him, not Yennefer. Approaching him, slow step by slow step, reaching out for him–

Jaskier startled, waking up with a gasp. He stared, wide-eyed, at the guard in front of him, holding an empty blanket. Jaskier realized then he was soaked in water. He groaned, tilting his head back to fall against the wall with an audible _thud_.

“No more sleeping,” the guard said gruffly.

Jaskier almost laughed; he was so hungry and delirious and he just wanted _out_. “Wh–what do you want from me?”

He couldn’t see the guard’s face but he imagined his expression: blank and unimpressed with his question. “You heard Fringilla,” he said. “Tell us all you know about the Witcher.”

Jaskier licked his lips and tasted blood. “I–I don’t know where he is,” he said truthfully. “We didn’t exactly part ways on _good_ terms.”

“Fringilla doesn’t believe you,” the guard replied simply.

Jaskier groaned, closing his eyes and wishing for sleep, the guard be damned. But then he was splashed with more water and he accidentally swallowed some, choking on it.

“No sleeping,” the guard repeated and Jaskier gasped as he felt a new kind of pain.

He looked down, eyes wide, at the dagger in the guard’s hand, pressed against the skin of his stomach, drawing bubbles of blood that left Jaskier feeling sick and off-kilter. He’d been prepared for more hitting and kicking, but for some reason he hadn’t considered they might try other things.

“Please,” he begged, heart thumping loudly behind his ribs.

The guard ignored him and soon all Jaskier could see was black.

Two days passed in the same manner until finally Fringilla showed her face again. She looked bored and unimpressed as she entered the cell and nodded at the guards, who left and closed the door.

Jaskier felt like he was dying and perhaps he _was_ dying.

“I warned you,” she said simply as she stepped closer.

Jaskier gathered spit in his mouth and spat in her face once she got close enough. Fringilla paused and for the briefest of seconds she actually looked surprised, eyebrows raising high on her forehead.

He grinned weakly. “Fuck _you_ ,” he said.

Fringilla hmmed, an odd look on her face. “I’ve decided,” she said, slow, “I won’t kill you.”

Now it was Jaskier’s turn to be genuinely surprised. “What?” he asked before he could think better of it.

Fringilla didn’t reply–she reached out and pressed both her thumbs to his forehead, closing her eyes and mumbling something, Elder, under her breath. Jaskier watched her face, eyes wide.

“Wh–what are you doing?” he asked, heart skipping a beat. “Please, don–”

He was cut off by his own scream of pain. He didn’t know what she was doing, but he was in _so much pain._ Jaskier’s eyes widened, overflowing with tears, as she kept chanting under her breath. He scratched at the wall, his nails catching on it.

She stopped and the pain subsided slowly. Jaskier’s head fell forward limply. “You weren’t lying,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “Poor bard,” she reached out and brushed the side of his face with her fingertips. “He won’t ever feel the same, and you know it.”

Jaskier flinched away from her touch. “Le–let me go,” he pleaded weakly.

Fringilla patted his cheek, a little harder than necessary. “You should be thanking me,” she said. “I’m going to help you,” she pressed her thumbs back to his forehead and he stiffened.

“Don’t,” he whispered. He didn’t know what she was going to do, but he knew with a certainty he didn’t want her help. “Don’t,” he repeated weakly.

Fringilla smiled cruelly. “Sweet dreams, little bard.”

Jaskier opened his eyes, slowly, and peered up at the sky. He felt–okay, he realized first. He was no longer in any pain, mostly just exhausted. He looked around and noticed he was in the woods by himself.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, slowly sitting up.

That’s when he heard it: approaching footsteps. He stiffened, preparing for the worst but–Yennefer appeared out of a bustle of trees and her eyes widened. “Jaskier,” she said. “I–I found him!” she exclaimed as she rushed over and dropped to the ground. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He blinked at her face, full of worry. “Yennefer? Wh–what happened?”

“You don’t remember?” she asked, looking him over. “Fuck, what did that bitch do?”

Jaskier couldn’t help smiling at her words. “You’re worried about me,” he said. “That’s so sweet.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes as she stood up. A man walked out from the trees and he stiffened for a moment, unsure of how to feel, before relaxing when Yennefer approached him.

“He seems to be okay,” she said to the man. “His memory is a little fuzzy but that’s to be expected.”

Jaskier stood up on shaky legs and the man rushed over, steadying him. Jaskier stared at him. He was undeniably a gorgeous man, and he wondered briefly if he was with Yennefer.

“You shouldn’t be standing yet,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pushed the man away, standing on his own. The man frowned, crossing his arms.

“So.” Jaskier said, addressing Yennefer. “What happened?”

She squared her shoulders. “Fringilla and her dogs kidnapped you,” she kidnapped, and he remembered vaguely the face of a woman with dark skin and blank eyes. “They were trying to get information about–” she knocked her head in the direction of the man “–out of you.”

Jaskier looked at the man. “Okay, second question: who the fuck is he?”

Yennefer and the man were both silent for a long, still moment. Jaskier started to feel itchy. He folded his arms over his chest.

“What?” he asked, voice rough.

Yennefer stepped forward. “Jaskier,” she said carefully. “What are you talking about?” She nodded at the man. “You know Geralt; you two have traveled together, on and off, for–for years.”

Jaskier glanced at the man– _Geralt_ –again. He looked confused and perhaps just a little hurt. Jaskier gulped and looked at Yennefer, shrugging sharply. “I’m sorry but I don’t know him.”

“Fuck,” Yennefer whispered. “Fuck,” she repeated strongly. “Fringilla fucked with your memories. That fucking _bitch_.”

Jaskier agreed with that sentiment, at least.

“Well?” Geralt said gruffly. “Can you undo it?”

Yennefer roughly brushed her hair out of her face. “I can try,” she said. “But it won’t be easy and I’ll need some ingredients.”

“ _Well?_ ” Geralt prompted again, sounding impatient.

She glared at him. “We’ll need to take him back to the inn.”

Geralt reached for Jaskier’s arm and he startled, scrambling back a few steps. “Okay,” he said. “I–I trust Yennefer–” she gave him an unexpected look and he shrugged. “Well, I do, so I’ll go along with whatever _this_ is, but no touching, okay?”

Geralt frowned, looking away. Jaskier cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, adjusting his shirt. “Well, Yennefer,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Yennefer and Geralt had a heated conversation. He only picked up bits and pieces, all about him. Finally, Yennefer turned away and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

“So,” Jaskier said, staring at Geralt’s back. “That seemed fun.”

Geralt grunted as he turned around and walked over, sitting on the bed, keeping a few feet of distance between them. He picked up his sword and started to clean it.

“Okay,” Jaskier mumbled. “Evidently conversation is not your strong suit.”

Geralt sighed heavily and stopped cleaning his sword. “I told her she should let me gather the ingredients,” he said. “I assumed you’d prefer not being left alone with a stranger.”

“Oh,” he breathed, feeling unexpected warmed by the gesture. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged sharply. “Doesn’t matter; she wouldn’t let me.”

“Well, it’s okay,” Jaskier said, patting his thighs. “I mean, I might not, uh, remember you but I do _know_ you, right?” Geralt glanced up, giving him an odd look. “So technically you’re not a stranger.”

Geralt almost looked amused. “That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

They were silent for a few minutes after that and Jaskier oddly didn’t mind; he couldn’t remember Geralt, but he felt comfortable around him, even safe. He found himself scooting closer until they were so close their shoulders brushed with Geralt’s movements.

“So, um,” he started. “Why would Fringilla only erase my memories of you?”

Geralt shrugged without looking up. “Probably just wants me to have less allies.”

“But why?” he pushed gently. “Is it because you’re a Witcher?”

Geralt hmmed. “I thought you remembered nothing about me,” he said.

Jaskier smiled, just the barest hint of teeth. “I used context clues,” he replied dryly. “I mean, two big scary looking swords, your medallion.” He noticed, with a shock, that Geralt was watching him, an almost sad smile on his face. Jaskier squirmed, curling his hands together in his lap. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” he replied gruffly, looking away. “Just–you said a similar thing when we first met.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Um. Could you tell me about it?” Geralt looked up again, raising his eyebrows. Jaskier shrugged. “I mean, about us. Our, uh–” he hesitated for a second too long.

Geralt smiled again, just barely, as he looked away, placing his sword back in his bag. “Our friendship?” he finished, a weird tilt to his voice.

“Um, sure,” Jaskier confirmed.

Geralt told him about everything, sparring no details, which Jaskier somehow knew wasn’t common. By the time he finished telling him about the mountain, he was stiff, a pinched expression on his face.

Jaskier hummed and nudged him with his shoulder. “You sound… guilty,” he observed.

“I am,” he answered. “If I hadn’t pushed you away like that, this–” he gestured at Jaskier “–never would’ve happened.”

Jaskier nodded. He had a point. “But you went looking for me,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” he replied, a little too fast. “I couldn’t–after you left, Jaskier, I couldn’t get you out of my head. And…” Geralt stopped, a weird look on his face. He looked away. “Never mind.”

Jaskier frowned, leaning closer. “Hey, no fair. Tell me.”

“I will,” he said. “But after you get your memories back.”

Jaskier’s frown deepened. “But what if she can’t do it?” he asked. “What if my memories are–”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “She’ll do it.”

Jaskier sighed softly, letting it go. They would know soon enough, anyway.

Yennefer returned with an armful of ingredients. “Lay down,” she instructed, and Jaskier did as he was told. She sat on the edge of the bed and put the ingredients on the bedside table, mixing them into different vials and sniffing them.

“How long?” Geralt asked gruffly, standing behind her.

She shrugged, sniffing a vial with a satisfied look. “We should know if it’s working within just a few minutes.” She looked at Geralt. “You might not want to be here for it.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

Jaskier smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, Yennefer, um–”

“Don’t be such babies,” she interrupted sharply. “Just tilt your head back.”

Jaskier obeyed and she pressed the vial against his lips. He drank it all and Yennefer took the vial away, placing it on the table with a _clank_. “So, um, what am I supposed to be feeli–” he was cut off by a gasp of pain.

Geralt stepped closer and Yennefer stopped him with a hand on his chest.

Jaskier groaned, throwing his head back, and arching off the bed. “Fu–fuck,” he gasped through the pain. “Is–is this normal?”

Yennefer watched closely. “Just bear with it,” she said. Geralt growled, low in his throat, and she pushed him back again. “Calm down,” she said sharply. “You might ruin it if you try anything.”

The edges of Jaskier’s vision started to blur and darken. “Yenn…” he started, needing to know if _that_ was normal, but he passed out before he could ask.

Jaskier opened his eyes and saw both Yennefer and Geralt hovering over him. Yennefer looked worried and curious. Geralt looked like he was ready to break something. He smiled slowly. “Hi,” he greeted, voice rough.

“Do you remember?” Geralt asked before Yennefer could.

Jaskier smiled wider, his lips so dry he could feel them cracking and Gods, he wanted water. “Yes, I remember you, you big oaf,” he answered. Geralt let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders drooping, and Yennefer smiled. “Now can I _please_ get some water?”

Yennefer nodded and scurried off, leaving them. Geralt helped Jaskier sit up.

That’s when Jaskier noticed the glass of water on the bedside table. He looked at Geralt and raised a silent eyebrow.

“Right,” Geralt sighed. He grabbed the glass and helped Jaskier take a sip. “I might’ve asked Yen to give us a moment alone when you woke up,” he admitted, sounding almost… _sheepish_. Which was entirely out of character, and kind of worried Jaskier.

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s wrist. “Why?” he asked softly. “You don’t have to apologize, you know. I still remember last night and I–I forgive you, Geralt.” He squeezed his wrist lightly. “And thanks for saving me.”

“We didn’t,” he replied gruffly. “We were too late.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and scooted over. “You know what I mean. Sit.”

Geralt hesitated for a brief second before he sat beside him, so close their shoulders brushed, just like last night except now Jaskier remembered his feelings for Geralt and he felt every brush of their shoulders like a knife to his heart. He smiled tightly.

“So. What do you need to tell me?”

Geralt looked down. “I realized something unexpected after we parted ways on the mountain,” he said, speaking slow. Jaskier had so many questions but he waited, not wanting to push. Geralt took a deep breath and looked up. “I never want to be away from you again.”

Jaskier was–well, shocked, obviously, but also warmed. “Oh,” he said. “See, I knew you were always lying when you said we weren’t friends.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. “That’s the thing. I don’t think–” he sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Jaskier, I don’t want to be friends.”

Jaskier felt like he’d been doused with a bucket of water, like he was back in the cell. He smiled tightly, searching the side of Geralt’s face. “Wh–what do you mean?” he asked softly.

Geralt looked at him, lips pressed together, tight. “Are you going to make me say it?”

Jaskier stared into his eyes. “I think I am,” he replied slowly.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said before pausing. “Bard, I have feelings for you–beyond that of just friendship.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Is this–am I _dreaming?_ ”

Geralt snorted his amusement. “If you are, this is a mighty shitty dream.”

“Hardly,” Jaskier replied. He licked his lips, still dry. “I kind of want to, like, kiss you right now but frankly my lips feel like a desert and I’m not sure I want our first kiss to be–”

Geralt leaned forward, pressing their lips together, cutting him off.

Jaskier didn’t even have the heart to be disappointed; he kissed back, hard, cupping Geralt’s face. Geralt growled, tugging him closer, and _that_ particular sound was the hottest thing Jaskier had ever heard.

They only separated when they heard the door open. Yennefer stood in the doorway with a glass of water, a smirk on her face. “Wow,” she said, looking at Geralt. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Geralt grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her. She elegantly sidestepped it.

“Cute,” she said, “but I should probably check on Jaskier.” Yennefer entered the room properly and closed the door with her foot. She grinned at the disappointed look on Geralt’s face. “Don’t worry; you can go back to sucking each other’s faces when I’m done.”

Jaskier couldn’t help it: he laughed and laughed, feeling light and airy. Geralt huffed, annoyed, and nudged him but that just made him laugh harder and soon Geralt was chuckling with him, and Yennefer was throwing the pillow back at them.

“Gods, you both are going to be _so annoying_ as a couple,” she said, but all Jaskier could hear was pure fondness in her voice.


End file.
